Walking Far From Home
by mickey chemical
Summary: Sam/Kurt - It's the night before Nationals and Kurt can't sleep


**Walking Far From Home**

_I don't know if you're awake_, Kurt texts Sam. He feels hot and cold and ridiculous all at the same time. _I am_.

It's because Mike's a snorer and Finn likes sleeping with the window cracked open, probably. Also, probably a little because Nationals are tomorrow and he can't remember anything, not choreography or lyrics or Sam's face, even though Sam is like 50 feet away in a room across the hall and he _never forgets Sam's face_. The room is cold and the sheets are thin.

Kurt realizes belatedly that maybe he should have kicked up a bigger stink when Mr. Schue decided that he and Sam wouldn't be allowed to room together. Sam would have probably been able to help him sleep. Sam probably doesn't snore either, but Kurt can't say he knows from experience. He stumbles out of bed less gracefully than he wanted to, but nobody's watching, even though sometimes it feels like they are.

He closes the door softly and begins shuffling down the dimly lit hallway. It's quiet, except for a dull humming noise coming from the vending machine a few feet down. A moment later, Kurt hears another door open and close and spins around to see Sam rubbing his eyes and looking around. The blond spots him and lifts his hand in a sleepy wave.

"Got your text." He mumbles, walking over to Kurt. "What's 'a matter?"

"Can't sleep." Kurt replies. "I actually didn't expect you to be awake."

"I was already up." Sam says. He scratches his elbow.

Kurt looks at him skeptically. "You were?"

"I guess you gave me your insomnia."

"I don't think insomnia's contagious." Kurt tells his boyfriend, stifling a yawn and leaning against the wall.

Sam shrugs. "Maybe not," he says with a lazy grin, "but if you're awake, so am I."

Kurt smiles back and turns around so that he's facing that loud, buzzing vending machine, fingers tapping the glass, face illuminated by its neon backlighting. Sam quirks an eyebrow and looks over his shoulder. "Chocolate will probably keep me up longer. I don't really care." Kurt explains, feeling around his pajama pants. His face falls.

"Here, I got it." Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few dollars. He slides them into the machine, and Kurt selects the chocolate he wants.

"Well, this is going straight to my hips." The brunet sighs, grabbing the chocolate bar and prying open its wrapper.

"They'll make it out okay. I know it." Sam reassures, laughing.

Kurt rolls his eyes. The two turn around and begin walking back, Sam's arm resting comfortably around Kurt's slight shoulders. He leans in.

"Are you nervous?" Sam asks.

"No." Kurt answers immediately. "Are you?"

The blond shuffles his feet a little, in attempt to make their amble back last a little longer. "Yeah, I guess. This _feels_ different, you know? We're in New York. And then there's the issue of me singing a – "

"Solo?" Kurt smiles reassuringly. "Sam, if anyone's gonna nail it, it's you." He breaks a piece of chocolate from the bar and pops it into his mouth. "I mean, you're always so _natural_ up there; the judges will fall for your charm and we'll win."

Sam laughs quietly, stops walking and winds his arms around Kurt's waist. He presses their foreheads together. "What about you?"

"I was upset at first. Naturally – "

"Naturally." Sam repeats.

Kurt hits Sam's arm lightly. "I'm happy for you. And besides, my solo at regionals was enough glory to last me a while."

"Naturally." Sam says again, this time with a grin spreading wide across his face, earning a genuine laugh from Kurt.

They stay that way for a while. Sam's eyelids begin to droop at one point, but he refuses to let go, deciding that this moment is worth tomorrow's consequential tiredness. Hell, he'd give up sleep altogether for Kurt.

"Just nine and a half hours till show-time." Kurt says absently, as he twirls a piece of Sam's hair between his fingers. The response is an acknowledging hum. Then, before he can say something about how articulate Sam is at this hour of the morning, he's being backed up against the wall, Sam's calloused hand cupping his cheek and crashing their lips together. It's a soft kiss, despite the rough initiation; Kurt rests a hand on the back of Sam's neck, leaning up on his tippy-toes, and Sam smiles into his lips before breaking off. He smells like laundry detergent, fresh and clean, like Tide or Sunlight or something bright and golden, just like him.

"Thank you." Sam whispers sheepishly.

"For what?" Kurt asks, still feeling weak and fluttery from the kiss.

"Believing in me and what not."

The brunet laughs breathlessly. "Thank _you_ for being awake with me."

"I told you, I was already up."

Sam is about to retreat across the hall to his room, but Kurt tugs on his hand, and places the half-eaten chocolate bar in his palm.

"In case you get hungry too." He explains.

Sam is quiet for a while, staring at Kurt with bright eyes. "When I'm up there tomorrow, I'll be singing for you."

Kurt blushes furiously. "You're terribly corny." He mutters, unlocking his door. Sam chuckles and crosses to his side of the hall. Kurt rests a hand on the doorknob. He turns around and watches Sam swipe the keycard through the lock. "Sam?" he says.

"Mmm?" Sam replies, keeping the door cracked open.

"I just – I love you."

The blond beams. "I love you too."

Satisfied, Kurt opens the door and steps inside. "Goodnight." He whispers.

"Night, Kurt. See you in the morning."

Kurt nods and closes the door as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Finn and Mike.


End file.
